


The Best to Hold

by redonthefly



Series: So No One Told Me [3]
Category: Frozen (2013), Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/F, F/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonthefly/pseuds/redonthefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best to Hold

**Author's Note:**

> You may want to see your dentist after reading this.

“I need your help,” Elsa announced, breezing in through the front door. It snapped shut behind her, blown in by the storm outside: grey gales of not quite snow, perfectly suited for February, and in Anna’s opinion, best if judiciously ignored with TV reruns and cups of tea. She was slightly windswept but otherwise entirely put together for the day - unfair for the hour - but with a marked expression of annoyance, a look Anna recognized from whenever Elsa expected that she should understand something and couldn’t. It was rare, and usually reserved for complicated recipes or for attempting to track the logic of Anna’s occasionally impetuous decision making; Anna blinked at the red letters of the clock on the microwave (07:35) while Elsa kicked off her shoes and huffed out of her coat.

Elsa would do this sometimes, still not exactly comfortable with Anna’s open invitation (“My casa, your house, whatever; just come by when you want to/need to, here’s a key”), and would swing between long stretches of refusing to visit on the premise of not interrupting Anna and Kristoff’s newly cohabitated status, and other times dropping in entirely unannounced as though she lived there too, and not half-way across town in an apartment above Oaken’s, with Olaf the cat and a large collection of tea cups and paperback novels.

Kristoff, who was standing in boxers and an apron, dropped his spatula into the pan of eggs on the stove, and made a dive for the couch.

“I’m entirely lost on this holiday,” Elsa continued, ignoring this while slinging her handbag onto the half-counter and wandering into the kitchen. “I’ve never really celebrated it before, but I’m almost entirely sure she expects me to, but _gah_ ,” and she grimaced, throwing her hands up in a gesture of irritation. “Do you have tea?”

Anna, perched on a barstool, took a sip of her coffee. “Top-left,” she said, watching bemusedly over the rim of her mug. “I think it’s probably just Lipton’s, but there’s honey in the cupboard somewhere.”

“Thanks.”

“Good morning Elsa,” Kristoff called, shaggy head peering over the back of the couch. “Anna, could you maybe bring me a robe? Or pants?”

 

*

 

“It’s not, you know, a relationship _requirement_ ,” Kristoff said a little later, gesturing with a piece of toast. “The whole event is a construct. A nice one, sure, but still. Made up.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Well, it is. Have you talked about it? Did you make plans?”

Elsa set down her fork with a sigh. “Not really. But she brought it up at lunch yesterday, and I had thought that she wasn’t interested, but apparently she’s thinking about it, and I don’t even know.”

“If you’re not sure, you can always go the traditional route. Chocolates, roses. That sort of thing.” Anna shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be a huge gesture to show her you care, Elsa. That’s the whole point, anyway. Just letting your sweetheart know you’re thinking about them.” She smiled fondly, and reached around a glass of orange juice to pat Kristoff’s forearm, who beamed.

“Chocolate. Roses.”

“Or a card?” Kristoff suggested. “If you’d rather write something.”

“Cook her dinner? Invite her over and have a nice night in. Watch a movie, snuggle.”

“Snuggle,” Elsa repeated. She was starting to look a little wide-eyed.

“ _Yes,_ ” Anna said, exasperated now. She ran a hand through her hair and over her face, then jabbed her fork in Elsa’s direction. “Elsa. It’s just Valentine’s Day. You did not grow up under a rock, or locked in a tower, for heaven’s sake. Make her dinner. Buy her a flower, and _give her a hug_.”

“Or a kiss,” Kristoff offered, grinning.

“I’m not a robot,” Elsa grumbled. “I _kiss her_. It’s just.” She slumped, picking at the edge of the paper napkins Anna had set out; they were a frightening electric pink. “I want it to be nice, and I don’t want to disappoint her, and it’s our first holiday, really, and.”

“Do you love her?” Anna asked, reaching over and gently resting her hand on Elsa’s, quietly stopping her from slowly shredding the napkin into pink slivers. They fluttered around the salt and pepper shakers, rosy confetti against the white and red dotted plastic tablecloth. Anna was proud of that table cloth. She’d purchased it specifically for the holiday, along with the heart-shaped magnets on the refrigerator and the stickers in the window from the dollar store down the street. The pops of red and pink were a cheerful addition to the otherwise empty beige walls, which had been lonely and empty after 6 weeks of a new semester and Kristoff’s erratic winter work schedule. Elsa took a deep breath, held it for a count of five then let it out slowly, tapping her fingers absently against the table.

“Yes,” she said, nodding to herself as she spoke. Anna watched, captivated, as surety crept in around the corners of Elsa’s carefully put-together appearance. “I really do.”

“Have you told her?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should think about that,” Anna said gently, and gave Elsa’s hand a squeeze before pulling it back into her own lap. Across the table, Kristoff was helping himself to another scoop of scrambled eggs, looking far too smug for a man who, in Anna’s opinion, was no authority on speaking his feelings either, and therefore in no position to be smug.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, noticing, and Elsa giggled, her layer of worry cracking for a second as she reached for the plate of toast.

“Anna, I’m _starving_ ,” she said, and Anna rolled her eyes and passed the butter.

 

*

 

Elsa lived in a studio apartment above Oaken’s- it couldn’t be beat for the commute, though other aspects of the space left something to be desired - namely, there was no place to hide in the event that she walked in and found Jane sprawled across her loveseat, lovely, flushed from riding her bike over, and nose buried in a book.

“Hello?” She asked, a question, and hung her bag on the hook by the door. Jane didn’t look up, just waved a hand backward over her head - _hello, hello_ \- and turned a page. Elsa stared at the back of her head for a second, then shrugged, moving over to the corner that served as her kitchen then plucked the scribbled list of Valentine’s ideas off the counter and shoved them into her pocket.

The list, compiled the previous night over a bottle of wine and a box of stale crackers, read:

~~_dinner out_~~

_dinner in_

~~_roses?_~~ _flowers, some variety_

~~_plant? lasts longer..._ ~~

_ice cream (coffee or toffee)_

~~_card?_ ~~

~~_box of chocolates_ ~~ _(you are not forrest gump)_

~~_romantic comedy_ ~~

~~_wine_ ~~ _gin and tonic_

 _~~strawberries~~ _ _clementines_

_kissing_

In fact, Elsa currently had in the back of her car a bag of ingredients for what she hoped was not an overly presumptuous dinner at home, a bag of the EZ-peel oranges which Jane was fond of, gin, limes, and a hastily grabbed bag of Hersey’s kisses.

“You’re early,” she said, having recovered the evidence of her panic the previous evening, and leaned over the couch to kiss the top of Jane’s head. That Jane was here, in her space, grinning and pink across the cheeks, present and tilting her head in an invitation for Elsa to press her lips on her nose, on her forehead, on her mouth was nearly dumbfounding; it made her feel silly, impulsive and giddy. Giving in to impulse, Elsa dipped down again, earning herself a swat and a smile, as Jane lowered the book and grinned.

“You’re late,” she countered, swinging her feet to the ground. “I’ve been here for ages.” Elsa twisted, squinted at the wall clock, heart racing, then laughed, catching up with herself.

“You’ve been here maybe 5 minutes; you’re still out of breath.”

“Caught me out,” Jane said cheerfully. She stood, tucked a bookmark into the book, and dropped it on the top of the stack on the lamp table. “I did beat you though. Why’re you staring at me like that?”

Elsa blinked. “I have. Groceries in the car. I’ll go get them.”

“I’ll help you.”

Dinner, Elsa found, goes smoothly. She likes to cook, and likes it even better with Jane perched at her tiny bistro table, sipping a gin and tonic and laughing when Elsa tells her stories. It’s a different kind of chemistry than working with confections of course, but it still makes sense. Salt, spices, the rhythm of her knife on the cutting board slicing tomatoes and carrots, and a precise basil chiffonade.  

“You’re _kidding_ ,” Jane giggled, stirring her drink with a finger. She licked the drops off, face pinching at the sourness of the limes. “He was in his underwear? My goodness.”

“And an _apron_ ,” Elsa cackled. “Anna loves that sort of thing, aprons, I mean - so it doesn’t surprise me that much but. The sight though…” she shook her head and leaned over, opening the oven door and pulling out the eggplant, setting the cooking sheet on the stove top. “I’m not sure I need to see that much of Kristoff ever again.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Jane said, giggling around the lip of her glass. “Though I think I might be able to see the appeal of the cook in nothing but an apron.”

Elsa bobbled a tomato.

 

*

 

“You made me dinner for Valentine’s Day,” Jane mused, turning over a clementine in her hands. She tossed it up, caught it, tossed it again. Elsa watched it, the orange caught in the soft yellow light of her two table lamps, up, down. Up, down. “That was sweet of you.” Jane caught the fruit, and instead of throwing it up again, began to peel it, thumbs digging into the pith and setting pieces of peel on her tea saucer on the coffee tray.

“I wanted it to be special,” Elsa said. She was stretched along the length of her couch, feet tucked under Jane’s thighs, lazy and full, happily watching Jane moving in her space, her house, her lovely blue eyed girl.

“Lovely blue eyed girl?" Jane said around a wedge of orange. “Huh?” And Elsa realized she’d spoken out loud.

“I was worried,” Elsa confessed, pulling herself more upright. “That it wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Jane’s mouth dropped open, then closed, and she smiled, setting the remains of the fruit down and scooting over until Elsa’s legs were draped over her lap and her face close in, noses brushing.

“Why?”

“You said that Sunday was Valentine’s day.” Elsa said, breathing softly. “I wanted to do something nice.”

“I did mention it, yes.” Jane’s smile was crooked.

“It’s important?”

“It could be. Or not.” Jane pulled back. She reached up and tucked a stray hair behind Elsa’s ear, smoothing it back into place with a strange expression. “Valentine’s day. It’s just a day, Elsa. A nice one, but you don’t need to prove anything.”

Elsa started. “I don’t - I’m not, really. But I did want to do _something_. For us. Because.”

“Because?”

The moment stretched, strung between them in the space between the quirk of Jane’s mouth and her dancing eyes, and Elsa swallowed, locked in and captivated, feeling the shape of air moving out of her lungs. Jane’s eyes were sparkling, crinkling as she smiled, fond, her hand warm where it rested on Elsa’s neck.

“I love you,” Elsa breathed, watching expressions flicker across Jane’s face, and Jane inhaled deeply, then pushed her bangs out of her face with the back of her hand, sitting back a little as a smile spread broadly across her face.

“I love you too,” she said, then tipped her head back and laughed, clear and loud, before launching herself at Elsa, who had no choice but to wrap her arms around her, burying her nose in Jane’s neck and inhaling the layered forest scent of her perfume.

Jane continued to laugh, silently quaking in Elsa’s arms, then peppered a series of kisses up Elsa’s neck.

“I do,” she said, after a minute, pulling back. Elsa slid her hand up Jane’s back and into the nape of her hair, the smile on her face spreading broadly, unbidden, skin singing and heart soaring in the cozy, dim lit living room.  

“I made ice cream,” said Elsa, faintly, trying to think clearly over the weight of Jane’s body draped over hers. “Toffee coffee.”

“Later, my darling,” Jane said, and Elsa nodded, sinking, happy and alight and loved.


End file.
